


Here Comes the Rush Before We Touch

by serohtonin



Category: Glee
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serohtonin/pseuds/serohtonin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically the missing sex scene from "I Do." Title taken from Tegan and Sara's "Closer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Comes the Rush Before We Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: 4.14 spoilers (if you still haven't seen it), sexual situations, brief reference to underage sex, mild references to Santana/Brittany, and Quinn/Rachel
> 
> Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own any of the characters mentioned. Sigh.

The party is winding down, but you're both still drunkenly giggling and stumbling into her hotel room. When she slams you against the closed door, you don't miss how her dark brown eyes flicker down to your lips, and if you're not mistaken, down your dress. Suddenly, you're not laughing anymore as Santana leans in to kiss you. Your mouths are a little off-center, and her lips are soft and full, sticky from lip gloss and fruity drinks, but it honestly doesn't feel weird at all. You're so relaxed from the alcohol and your mouths melting together so wonderfully, that you don't even object when she slips her tongue inside.

One of her hands wanders up your thigh. The touch is bold, yet delicate, which you're not used to, but definitely not opposed to, if the moans she swallows from you are any indication. You have no idea where to put your own hands, what's okay to touch, until you decide to gingerly splay them across the small of her back.

Santana looks up at you from where she's buried her face in your neck. "If we're gonna do this, just go there, Q." She moves your hands down to her ass, and _oh, that's nice._

All you can do is dumbly nod as she smiles into your neck. Her thumb is rubbing at your clit, and you feel your legs falling open, almost of their own accord.

"Is this okay?" she quietly mumbles against your skin. "D'ya wanna--"

"Yes," you answer far quicker than you expect.

"Thought so. Bed or--?" she starts, her thumb working faster, her lips crawling across the exposed skin above your breasts.

"Don't care," you manage to breathe out.

"Alright," she pulls away and smirks, dragging you over to her bed and pushing you down, flat on your back.

Santana kicks her heels off, and then straddles your hips, grinding into you, where you're already aching and wet.

"San, c'mon," you whine.

"Damn, you're so desperate, I can practically smell it." She licks her lips predatorily, and you swear you never wanted anything else so much.

"Shut up," you smile, and tug her down so your lips meet again. Her hair tickles your skin, but you don't brush it away because it serves as a reminder of what you're doing and who you're doing it with.

It makes you feel alive in a way you never imagined.

Her hands cup your breasts before trailing down your sides, and curving around the swell of your ass, a part you've felt self-conscious about since you had Beth, even if you've worked hard to get it back in shape. It feels good to have someone admire it, especially the woman above you.

Your own hands squeeze her ass, which she seems to like, because she pants into your collarbone, so you reach under her dress to get at more skin, and, oh, of course, she's wearing a thong. You knead the smooth, firm flesh of her ass in your fingers; it's somehow also soft and warm, just like every other part of her. You enjoy exploring her, letting your hands wander up her back, until she's pretty much growling, her teeth scraping against the top curve of your breast.

She sighs, "Between the legs, Fabray."

Your fingers brush over the flimsy fabric that doesn't cover her ass at all but affords you another excuse to touch her there. Your hands fall away for a second before you're touching her again, your fingers curiously ghosting over the lace front of her thong.

"A little harder," Santana moans, her fingers dangerously close to dipping beneath your underwear.

"Relax. I'm getting there. It's my first time, y'know."

"Oh, so you haven't done it with Berry, then?" she teases, her voice growing more raspy when you press against her clit, still over the cloth.

"You're such a bitch," you laugh and drag your fingers down the swollen lips of her pussy.

"Please, your crush on her can be seen from miles, unhh, away." She runs her fingers over the sensitive skin where your inner thigh meets your center.

Your whole body heats up, whether at the topic, or the touch, but the latter is safer, so you focus on that. "Mmm, more. Fuck," slips out, rather than a real retort to whatever Santana was saying.

"You need to get these off, now."

Then, she's sliding your panties down your legs. You watch her lick her lips as you're revealed to her, the cool air of the room rushing against you.

"Put your feet flat, and spread your legs."

You do as she commands, but you lean on your elbows and look down at her.

"Oh, right. You've never..." she grins. "Just lie back and enjoy, Queenie." She pulls out the nickname she's mocked you with since the beginning of sophomore year, when she was jealous that you were named cheer captain and not her.

Then, before you can even respond, she's pressing her tongue flat against you, and you can't even think straight. You want to squeeze your thighs together and hold her there because, wow, you've never felt anything like that _there,_ or anywhere, ever.

She sweeps up and over your clit, her fingers playing at the inside of your thigh. You start to shake, as if you’re going to fly apart, when she sucks at the small nub.

But then she's drawing back, her lips slick with spit, a dark look in her eyes, the kind that when normally directed at you can sometimes make you feel like you're on display, but now, it only makes you feel powerful.

It doesn't lessen the throbbing between your legs, though.

"San, what're you doing? Come back."

"'m right here, babe." She's taking off your shoes and sliding her hands further up your dress, over your bra.

You squirm, settling your hands at the bare skin of her waist, and then navigate the curve of her back again.

"Can we--?" you ask, finding the hem of her dress, which is pushed up somewhere around her ribcage by now.

"Yeah, yeah." As gracefully as she can manage, she slips off her dress, and it's nothing you haven't seen before in gym class, or after cheer practice, but now, the miles of tan curves make your mouth water.

You lift up to fit your hand around one of her breasts, staring at them, almost in awe.

"I know you're not shy, Q," you hear her say, and you're not sure what she means but you take that as a challenge.

Your fingers don’t feel like your own, almost as if someone else is unhooking her bra and letting it land on the other side of the room. You don’t know what’s possessing you, but your mouth latches onto one of her nipples, while fondling the other breast. You switch breasts, one of her hands cradling the back of your head. You must be doing something right, because Santana’s letting out high-pitched whimpers you’ve only heard those few times you woke up in the middle of sleepovers during freshman year with her and Brittany.

You drag your lips across her breast to the small space between them, and then kiss down her torso.

“Wait, wait,” she grabs at your hair roughly, forcing you to look up at her. She raises a brow. “I thought _I_ was the gay one,” she chuckles. “And you’re not naked enough yet.”

You roll your eyes and clumsily struggle out of your dress, raising an eyebrow back at her. “That better?”

She gulps. “Yeah.”

She’s pushing you back down, and kissing you again, on your mouth, your neck, your collarbone, down your chest. She gropes at your breasts, your sides, and your hips. Her fingers flit over your hips, your thighs, your calves, everywhere but where you _need_ to be touched.

“God, Santana,” you nearly beg.

“Sit up a little.”

“Wh--”

She unlatches your bra. “That’s better,” she whispers, more to herself than to you.

Her hands skim over your breasts far too quickly, but then they’re down near your stomach, very close to where only she, and you, in times of desperation, have touched.

Her pointer finger lightly touches your clit, and then teases at your soaking lips.

You want to yell at her to do it already, to get you off so this can be over, except maybe, part of you doesn’t really want it to be over so soon.

She dips the tip inside you, and you almost shout, because this is way better than you anticipated, which if you’re honest, you were anticipating something like it since you had her in your arms on the dance floor.

She slides her finger in further until she finds that spot that does have you crying out now. “Mmm, been too long, Fabray?” she tries for snarky, but her voice is quivering a bit.

Instead of answering with words, you grip the back of her head and kiss her, long and slow, your tongue brushing that ridge at the back of her teeth.

She kisses you more hungrily, nudging another finger in beside the first one. She finds that spot again as she crooks her fingers, making you buck up against her.

Instinctively, you wrap your legs around her waist. It changes the angle slightly and pushes her in deeper. You curse as soon as your mouth is free, her mouth now occupied by the skin right above your breasts. You feel like every nerve ending of your body is on fire, but it’s still not enough, so you ask for more.

She crooks her fingers a few more times and pulls out for a brief second, before returning with three fingers. It doesn’t feel better than anything else you’ve experienced; it’s different but not at all unpleasant. When she encounters that spot inside of you, you scream, and when she hits it three more times, your heart races and your body shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching around her fingers as you hit your release.

Finally, you begin coming down, feeling empty when you realize her fingers have left you, but then, they’re still rubbing against your oversensitive clit. You open your eyes to see that she dragging her wet fingers across her own pussy lips, and then over her clit. She stares at you, thrusting all three fingers inside of her at once, her breasts bouncing as she pushes down on them roughly, and if you didn’t already orgasm, you swear you could have from this sight.

_“Oh, ohh,”_ she cries out at breaking point, softer than you expect. Then, the warm weight of her slumps down on top of you.

Your fingers trace up and down her spine, in an effort to calm her heaving breaths against your chest.

She lifts her head. “So, that was, um--”

“Yeah,” you smile at her.

She smiles back and takes the opportunity to roll off and flop down next to you. "I wish I had a cigarette or something," she laments. "You're sure you're not...?"

"I'm not sure about anything, and for once, it feels kinda good. Freeing."

"Good. Maybe you can stop chasing unavailable men who are three times your age."

"Yeah, I'm not doing that again, and he was not three times my age."

"Yeah, and I'm Rosario Cruz. Whatever, Fabray." She props herself on her elbows. “I’m fucking starving. Do you want some food?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you shrug. “Can you get me some water?”

She saunters over to the mini-fridge, as if catering to her partner’s whims is routine for her.

It probably was, not too long ago.

You try not to think about that because it’ll ruin your post-orgasm, anti-love buzz.

Santana lounges at the end of the bed after she hands you the bottle.

“Now I know why college girls experiment,” you comment, and then take a sip.

“Thank God they do.”


End file.
